Montana Hearts: Her Weekend Wrangler (4 page)

“For now, yes,” he said, as if trying to placate a child. “You may be family, but my wife and I are the ones who run this ranch, the ones who deal with the ins and outs of every problem that arises while you’re not here. We’re certainly capable of managing the finances, too. I can assure you everything is in order and accounted for.”

“I didn’t mean
to imply they weren’t. I’m just trying to help my family.” She spied the corner of an old leather-­bound ledger beneath the stack of papers nearest her end of the desk. Snatching it up with her fingers, she pulled it out. “Is this the record book?”

“One of them. Your father likes to keep a hard copy in the office, but the rest of the files are on the computer.”

Bree flipped open the cover
and glanced at the first page. “This is the upcoming schedule?” She scanned the entries. “What’s this? It says Cabin 12 is booked for the first three weeks free of charge.”

Wade eyed the book, his fingers curling at his side. “Three CEOs from Iridescent Beauty Cosmetics are scouting for a place to hold corporate retreats.”

“Three whole weeks with full amenities is a long time. Couldn’t
we have just given them a discount on our weekly rate?”

“If they select this ranch for their retreat, they’ll pay a large advance and the cabins will be booked for several weeks straight.”

“Did you get that in writing?”

Wade snapped the cover shut and, latching his hand on the opposite end of the book, tried to take it from her. “Not yet.”

Bree held tight to the book, refusing
to let it go. “What do you mean, ‘not yet’?”

“He means we’ve got it handled,” Susan said, giving her husband a nervous look.

Wade pulled hard, and almost managed to win the tug-­of-­war, but Bree clawed her nails deep into the leather and, spinning away from him, twisted the book from his grip.

“And I’ve got
this
handled,” she told them. “Where are those receipts you mentioned?”

Wade glared at her, but Susan gave her an apologetic smile and said, “I’ll give them to you first thing in the morning.”

B
REE STAYED UP
late that night poring over the numbers with her calculator. Somehow, even without the missing receipts, the income and expense columns weren’t adding up. She’d already rechecked her work three times and was about to do it again when she heard a loud
bang!

She glanced at the clock. Almost midnight.

Bang!

There it was again. Glancing out the window she didn’t see anything. Not even the light of the moon. All was black except the faint outline of the barn and a few of the nearby guest cabins.

Sometimes the horses kicked against their stalls when a predator drew near, but this noise sounded like the blast of a shotgun, or a stick of
her grandma’s homemade dynamite. Sometimes Grandma used one to disintegrate a stubborn underground root in her garden. But not usually in the middle of the night.

A truck engine roared to life and she heard another
bang! bang! bang!

Bree left her room and almost collided with Delaney coming from hers. “Oops. Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

“What’s all that noise?” Delaney asked. “Whoever
is trying to leave is going to wake up Meghan.”

Bree frowned. “Leave?”

At the moment neither Luke nor her father could drive, which left Grandma, their mother, or . . . the ranch managers. Bree thought of the missing money but kept her suspicions to herself as she and Delaney hurried toward the front door. Luke, using his cane for support, hobbled up beside them.

“Sounds like a clogged
exhaust,” he muttered. “The truck’s backfiring like a machine gun.”

Delaney turned on the light and they went out onto the front porch. A series of shrill neighs came from the interior of the barn. Great. Now even the horses were up.

“Bree? Luke? Del? Is that you?” their ma called.

“Yeah, Ma,” Bree answered. “We’re out here. But it’s not us making that racket.”

Ma stepped up behind
them. “Then who—­”

Bright headlights pierced the darkness. A truck raced past, coating Bree with a fine layer of dust she couldn’t see but could certainly taste as it flew into her mouth.

Coughing, she pointed to the truck’s red taillights zooming down the dirt driveway. “The ranch managers.”

“Where would they be going at this time of night?” Ma demanded.

“I looked at the ranch’s
financials, and according to the numbers, there’s a lot of money missing,” Bree said, alarm shooting up her spine. “They knew I would find out—­that’s why they didn’t want me to see the books. And now they’ve run away before they can be caught.”

“That’s crazy,” Ma exclaimed. “Susan and Wade have been with us for eight months. We’ve treated them like family. They have no reason to steal. They’ll
be back, wait and see. Maybe one of them had an emergency or maybe they had to pick up supplies.”

“Supplies? At this hour?” Luke asked.

Grandma, wearing her favorite Clint Eastwood printed pajamas, pushed open the screen door and hurried toward them. “I just checked their room.”

“And?” Bree asked.

“They’ve taken everything.”

Chapter Three

U
NABLE TO SLEEP,
Bree scoured the computer and the rest of the desk papers the ranch managers left behind to piece together conclusive proof for the authorities. Luke helped. Delaney escaped back upstairs to watch over Meghan. Which left Ma and Grandma the misfortune of breaking the news to their father, who had come home and been put on bed rest. From the heated
shouts echoing from his room, it didn’t sound like he was resting very well.

Hours passed, and a quiet anxiety fell over the house. The only noise was the repetitious tick tock of the large wooden grandfather clock echoing down the hall and an occasional moan or whisper. But before the first light of dawn seeped through the windows, Bree found what she was looking for and called the sheriff.

“You must be mistaken,” her father scolded as Ma pushed his wheelchair out onto the front porch. “You don’t know Susan and Wade Randall like I do, and I can tell you right now that there must be a reasonable explanation for all this.”

Bree met his squinty-­eyed look head-­on. “Susan and Wade have been embezzling money from you for months. Thousands upon thousands of dollars. They’ve drained
both your checking and savings accounts dry.”

Her father set his jaw. “Impossible. I never gave them access to our savings.”

“While you were in the hospital they must have found your account number and forged your name,” Bree told him.

When the sheriff went over the financial files himself, he agreed with Bree. “I’ll issue a warrant for their arrest.”

The sheriff’s arrival had
also brought over their neighbors Merle and Olivia Owens, whose property lined the right side of the guest ranch, and Sammy Jo, whose family owned the land on the left.

“I knew something was going on as soon as I saw the patrol car pull into your driveway,” Merle said, scratching his black goatee. “We had to come make sure you were all okay.”

“I did, too,” said Sammy Jo, and looked around.
“Where’s Luke?”

Bree yawned. “Sleeping. Which is what I plan to do for the next six hours.”

“Yoo-­hoo, Sheriff,” Grandma yelled, lifting the hem of her skirt and waddling toward them from the paddock in a panic. “I can’t find Party Marty. The ranch managers might have stolen him, too.”

“Don’t worry, Grandma,” Delaney called as she and Meghan led the miniature pony into the front yard.
“I found him eating the grass behind the first set of guest cabins.”

The pony nuzzled Grandma’s hand as if to tell her
he
had no worries in the world. Bree wished her family could say the same.

“While money is a concern,” Bree told them, “the good news is that the ranch is booked solid. The first guests arrive in two weeks, three of them high-­profile CEOs from Iridescent Beauty Cosmetics
who are scouting for a place to hold a corporate retreat. If they select ours, they’ll give us a large cash advance.”

“That’s a relief,” her father grumbled.

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and continued, “The bad news is that no one’s hired any employees. We still need a kitchen crew, ranch hands, and a head wrangler to lead roundups on weekends.”

“The ranch managers must have
planned to take off before the summer season,” Sammy Jo said, her eyes wide. “When Bree dug into the finances, it just made them leave sooner.”

Merle gave them a sympathetic look. “I hired a crew for our dude ranch months ago. You might find yourselves with slim pickings.”

Bree’s father winced and let out a low grunt. “I feel another headache coming on.”

“If you aren’t ready in time,
I can help you out by taking some of your guests to my ranch,” Merle offered.

“That’s nice and neighborly of you,” Ma said, “but with our kids home, we’ll manage, won’t we, Jed?”

Their father arched a brow toward Ma, gave her a look like she was out of her mind, and let out another grunt.

“Meghan and I will stay and help,” Delaney promised.

Their father glanced Del’s way and nodded.
Bree watched his gaze turn toward her. “Don’t you have to return to New York?”

She raised her chin. “That’s up to you.”

Her father didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then the corners of his mouth shot upward and he laughed for what seemed like the first time in years. “Well, then, I guess you’ll be stayin’.”

“C
’MON,
G
RAMMY, YOU
can do it!” Cody shouted as he climbed atop the corral
fence in the Tanners’ yard.

Ryan gave his son a quick glance, grinned, then turned his attention back to his mother. The mare had taken to her just fine. The problem was the filly. “Try to pet her. Run your hands over her neck and back.”

“I’m trying,” his mom said, sounding out of breath. “But every time I get near her she runs around the other side of the mare.”

“Dad, should I get
her some carrots?” Cody asked.

Ryan shook his head. “No. The filly’s teeth aren’t strong enough for carrots. Better get some grass.”

Cody jumped down off the fence and ran into the barn. When he came back he started through the gate, but Ryan called him back. “The mare doesn’t trust boys like you and me. We have to let your grandma do this on her own.”

“Thanks, Cody.” She retrieved
the grass and waved it in front of the filly. “Come and get it. Nice sweet green grass here just for you.”

The filly ventured a few steps forward and took a nibble. Ryan’s mom dropped a handful on the ground and the filly continued to eat.

“Slowly,” Ryan instructed.

His mom reached her hand over the soft, wispy brown mane, and slid it down along the filly’s back. “I think she’s okay
with me now,” his mom said, smiling. “Why don’t you toss me a brush?”

Cody took one out of the tack bucket and threw it behind her. The filly jerked her head up, but then, seeing no threat, bent down for another mouthful of grass. The mare leaned her head down, too, and nibbled beside her, but when Ryan’s mom tried to run the brush over the filly’s coat, the young one tried to scoot away again.

“Well, at least you’re showing her different things,” Ryan encouraged. “Why don’t you let her sniff the halter?”

“Watch out she doesn’t run away with it,” Cody warned.

Ryan’s mom picked up the miniature blue nylon halter and lead rope. “I’m more afraid she’ll run away with
me
.”

“You’re doing fine, Mom,” Ryan encouraged. “Let her smell the band, then ease it up over her nose.”

She did as she was told, but she wasn’t experienced with younger horses. The filly tossed her head this way and that and pranced around. In turn, the mare, who had been calm all this time, got antsy because her baby was antsy.

“I like my horses already trained,” Ryan’s mom growled. “Who has the patience for this?”

She tried to slip the halter over the filly’s head a second time, but the
filly reared up on her hind legs, did a little hop, and when the front legs came down, one of the hooves glanced off Ryan’s mother’s leg.

“Ow!” she cried.

Ryan lurched forward with alarm. “Mom, are you okay?”

His mother winced and rubbed her pant leg. “I’m going to have a nasty bruise.”

Ryan sighed. “Why don’t we call it a day?”

“I call it
done
,” his mom muttered. “I bought
a new dress for my fortieth high school reunion this week and now my leg is going to look awful.”

“No one will notice,” he soothed.

“The hemline is above the knee,” she insisted. “Of course they’ll notice.”

“Tell them you were out roping some bulls.”

“Ryan,” his mother said, her voice stern. “I may not have seen some of my old classmates in years, but they’ll still recognize a
line
of bull when they hear one.”

“I don’t think Grammy’s having fun,” Cody said, and opened the gate for her to come out of the corral.

Ryan tousled the top of his son’s short brown hair. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“You can’t just have
any
woman help you,” she said, handing him the halter. “What you need is a woman with some experience with fillies, someone who knows what she’s doing.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. But who?”

His mom thought for a moment and then snapped her fingers. “I hear Bree Collins is back in town.”

Ryan clenched his teeth.
Couldn’t anyone think of someone other than Bree?

L
ATER THAT AFTERNOON,
after Bree awoke from a sound sleep, Delaney informed both her and Luke that Grandma had summoned them to a business meeting in her “office.” Which
was, of course, the vegetable garden.

When they arrived, Grandma was stooped in a half-­crouch weeding the trenched rows where she’d soon plant her indoor tomato starts. With such a short garden season due to lingering frost, growing vegetables in Montana wasn’t easy, but each year their grandma was determined to do it. Upon seeing them, she straightened, distributed work gloves, and placed
a shovel in Luke’s free hand.

He gave her a wary look. “I can’t shovel while leaning on a cane.”

“Sure you can.” Grandma gave him a wide smile. “We’ve all got work to do around here and there’s no time to waste. Bree, you can start by weeding the row set aside for my sugar snap peas. Delaney, you weed around the zucchini. Luke, you can dig those weeds out in the aisle right in front of
you.”

Luke dug the tip of the shovel in the ground. “I thought you wanted to talk business.”

“I do. You know this ranch first got started with a shovel full of dirt. Your grandpa and I, we dug the foundation for the house ourselves when we were younger than you are now. I was just nineteen, your grandpa was twenty-­two.” Grandma smiled and patted her belly. “And your dad was on the way.
He grew up here and, unlike the three of you, he never left. Never knew anything different. Although it’s hard for him to admit he needs you, I’m glad you all told him you’d stay.”

Bree pulled out a clump of stubborn weeds and shot Luke a surprised glance. “You’re staying, too?”

Luke shrugged. “Fishing in the Keys isn’t the same with a cane. At least here I can do something useful.”

“Like pull weeds?” She grinned as she tore out another clump.

“Someday you three will inherit this land, but after what happened last night, I want to make you a deal,” Grandma said, her cackling voice growing excited. “I want to give each one of you a portion of the guest ranch right now. If we all work together, we can split the profits into equal shares six ways. I’ll keep one sixth, and
give one sixth to your father, a sixth to your ma, and one sixth to each one of you.”

Luke paused with his shovel and looked up. “You’re serious. We’d be co-­owners with you, Ma, and Dad? What does Dad say about this?”

“He’s the one who gave me the idea,” she told them. “We’ll be a team. Collins Country Cabins will be a real family-­run business.”

“I
have
dreamed of owning my own business,”
Bree said, “but what we need is a game plan. If no one objects, I can interview staff and take care of the hiring. I can also manage the books and help find ways to get us out of our present mess.”

Delaney grinned. “You know me. I love animals. There’s nothing I’d like better than to take care of the horses.”

Whew!
Bree had been hoping her sister would say that. The less time she herself
spent near the barn, the better.

“I’d volunteer to be the head wrangler,” Luke admitted, “but I can’t . . . ride.”

Bree glanced again at his leg, wondered about the extent of his injury, and her heart went out to him as the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed up and down.

“I
am
handy with a hammer.” Luke gave her another of what she knew to be his forced smiles. “I can make repairs and
finish building the two extra cabins that were started.”

Bree nodded, but wasn’t sure how much he could do if he couldn’t climb a ladder. “I could lend a few thousand from my own savings to cover the cost of materials . . . and hire extra laborers.”

“Me, too,” Luke agreed. “I can also provide money for day-­to-­day operating expenses until we get some guest revenue coming in. If we run
short, I can look into a bank loan.”

Grandma emptied her bucket of weeds into a nearby wheelbarrow. “Your mother and I have agreed to tidy the guest cabins, and I can stock them with some of my homemade lavender soaps and mint candies.”

“What about . . . Dad?” Bree asked. “He’s not one to sit around idle.”

Grandma gave them a wink and a grand chuckle. “I told him the best thing he
can do is stop barking at everyone and stay out of the way.”

If anyone could handle her father it was Grandma. Bree smiled. “I’ll make up a Help Wanted sign tonight. And hopefully I can start interviewing employees and line up a weekend wrangler by the end of the week.”

“You can’t put out an
ad
for a wrangler,” Grandma said, her white bushy brows drawing in with a frown. “We need someone
with experience, someone we can trust.”

“I can ask Sammy Jo,” Bree suggested.

“No. She’ll be away at rodeos on weekends,” Luke reminded her.

Too bad. She would have been perfect.

“The first guests arrive Memorial Day weekend, which gives us less than two weeks,” Delaney reminded them. “Who else is available on short notice?”

Grandma gave Bree a firm nod. “You need to ask one
of the Tanner brothers.”

“Oh, no. Anyone
but
them.” Bree dug her nails into the dirt and tore out another clump of weeds, perhaps with a little more force than necessary.

“You’ve got to admit they’re good,” Grandma insisted. “Best wranglers this side of the state.”

“Yeah,” Bree agreed. “Too good. They have everything. Money, popularity, women, and egos as large as their vast acreage.
They think they are so hot.”

“Of course they’re hot,” Grandma argued. “They work in the sun all day.”

“I meant they know they’re good-­looking.”

Grandma laughed with a cackle, her blue eyes twinkling. “I knew what you meant.”

“I can’t ask them to help us,” Bree said, scooting over to a larger weed patch. “I doubt they’d say yes.”